Tribute to the King
by Tantalium
Summary: My blood lust cannot be sated no matter how many lives I take. I have fiery vengeance for those who infuriate me, and those who try to deceive me will face wrath worse than that of the King Himself.


_Tribute to the King_

**A/N: This story does not follow the Warcraft timeline and lore much – it's done that way on purpose. I point of this fic is to focus on the heroine's feelings and thoughts, rather than follow something that was already set out. **

**Enjoy!**

I open my eyes for the first time. Everything around me is dark, but welcoming. I embrace the shadows as I slowly lift my re-born body of the floor. The sounds are sharp, and my ears take time getting used to it. I breathe in though my nostrils. The smell of death is surrounding me. Before, I found the smell of blood and rotting flesh foul and nauseating. Now, I reel in the sweetness of it.

I walk slowly in the round room. I see my master on the balcony. His white mane is a blizzard, flying wildly in the wind. I go to kneel before Him. I feel Him inside my head, and I know that He is pleased that I am enjoying my new state of being. I feel His excitement as He sends me on my first task to kill some of my former allies. He hands me a large sword. I realize what I did before – I now can't. Magic within me died. Wielding a weapon this size is new to me and as I make my way towards the humans in chains I get used to the feeling of cold steel in my hands.

The slaves are in a bad shape and look to be hardly alive. The feeling in my chest is something new, and I cannot identify what it is.

"Kill them all."

His whisper caresses me.

I glance at the chained slaves and a small smirk spreads over my perfect mask. They are a pitiful sight: they will never know what it's like to be re-born, to serve my King, and to have a higher purpose. I raise my sword as I approach the first chained man.

One…

Two…

Three…

Four…

Five heads are now on the floor detached from the corpses. The smell of fresh blood on my hands makes me ecstatic. Alliance? I find it hard to believe I once belonged to a group of such weak individuals. I let out a short laugh as I think that these weaklings thought they actually stood a chance against the Lich King.

The ties that held me to the living no longer bind, I am liberated and the sensation of freedom thrills me to no end.

Time goes slowly as we advance into the northern continent of Azeroth. The storm is coming. The cold winds stir flurries from the ground and embrace me gently in a swirl. I bend down and pick up a handful of snow. I hold it for what seems like hours and it never melts. That's what I like about my new self. There is no change. I will never grow old; tire and I will never die unless I fall in battle. And with our latest additions, it is very unlikely.

I have become second in command to my King. He calls me his Queen and it pleases me vastly. He always tasks me with the most difficult quests because he knows I will find pleasure in the most grueling jobs and satisfaction in the kill. My blood lust cannot be sated no matter how many lives I take. I have fiery vengeance for those who infuriate me, and those who try to deceive me will face wrath worse than that of the King Himself.

When we reach Icecrown, He takes me to the Citadel - my new home. My master has grand plans for Northrend, and thousands of scourge work night and day to make it come to life. I am the Overseer. I am the only one who He shared His plans with. I've seen the magnitude of the final design and it shook me to my very core. The Lich King is the ultimate power. No one - not even the titan gods will come close.

Months go by and the only way to tell is by the progress the scourge has made. The weather is almost unchanging. Dry coldness is replaced by days with storms, and when they die down, the dry cold settles in again. It's a never-ending battle in which the only victor is Winter herself.

I may be unchanging, but I am not stuck in time, ignorant of what is brewing outside these walls. Horde and Alliance have joined forces, in feeble attempts to penetrate our home. They don't know what awaits them inside…

I am making my rounds. It is just after midnight. My King has told me it is unnecessary, but with recent breakthroughs of those irritating nobodies I would rather be alert and aware. My steps are quiet as a quickly move from hall to hall. The only giveaways to my presence are my runed blades shining brightly and my still blond hair.

I hear noises in the hall to my left. The familiar sound for blades grating against armor pierces my ears as I run to check it out. A small army of Alliance has made it in and was now engaged in battle with the guards. I draw my blades as I step into the room.

Quickly dismembering a few mages – really, were they not paying attention to defensive magics in Dalaran? – I move toward the action.

I sink my swords into a few more casters on the way. I move slower now. I hold my blade inside a shaman as I feel his life slip away. His heartbeat – strong at first, but I twist my blade until I feel it no more.

Finally, what looks like a Paladin notices me and alerts the rest. They know who I am. Rather, who I was.

Their numbers have dwindled, but so have ours. I quickly assess the situation. I know that I cannot count much on the scourge. My mind is alert as I step in the midst of the battle.

I am ready.

I am calm.

My face is an impassive mask, but as I look in the eyes of these weaklings all I see is terror. I sly smile adorns my face. I hear their pathetic hearts beating and the sound annoys me to no end. Soon it will stop. Soon I will win.

I raise my blades and that seems to draw my enemies out of their stupor. I have no mercy, as I begin my dance.

They try to rush me, but I am quicker. I move, what seems to them between the folds of time and they can never lay their swords on me. I don't bother doing too much damage to them yet – I just jab and slash a few here and there. Their cries of pain are music to my ears. It drives me farther. I feel great. I know I can do this for eternity, but I know they won't last. They are getting tired and I am getting bored.

I decide to stop toying around. In one quick move I end four lives. The ones left standing realize that soon their time will come and I let out a short laugh. That seems to drive them over the edge. Their final push leaves a mark – my left arm is hurt. I suppress the sharp pain and drive it far from my mind. Few seconds go by and I witness the last living breath released. I watch the fallen warriors closely. My sword pierced their hearts, cut off their heads and my blades are sticky with their red. They put up a good fight. But I was better. This battle is done.

I move I quickly as I finish my patrol and order the minions to call necromancers to raise the fallen. They were good fighters. I increase the guard around the citadel, and to my surprise I realize that for the first time, I am tired. I finish my task, and head to my King.

I approach the Frozen Throne. He sees my arm is hurt and quickly gets up.

He mends me.

I thank Him.

He looks in my eyes.

I open my mind to him.

He knows everything that happened tonight.

I see His concern. But what throws me is that He is concerned for me – not the break-in.

I look up at him.

He takes my hand.

"Arthas…" I breathe.

"Jaina…" He murmurs.

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